


The Rockstar & The Journalist

by WeirdAssomnio



Category: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting - Fandom, Nagron - Fandom, Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: I Promise I haven't abandoned this!!!!, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-01-08 17:47:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1135602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeirdAssomnio/pseuds/WeirdAssomnio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agron's a super famous rockstar and Nasir wants to interview him</p><p>(I've added more to Chapter 1)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing of this amazing show or its characters.
> 
> I've added more to Chapter 1 after the * * *

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“You came a damn long way just to see me.”

The words were harsh, terribly uncaring and might have made a lesser person cry.

Perhaps if Nasir had been some lovesick fan his reaction might have been different. But Nasir wasn’t a fan and he was more than capable of dealing with this man's type without losing his head. Nasir couldn’t have cared less about his pretty face, celebrity status, gold records or millions of dollars. There was only one thing he wanted from Agron Hoffmann and it wasn’t an autograph. “Let’s make it worth the trip then.”

Nasir didn’t bother to wait for an invitation as he took a seat beside Agron in the adjoining armchair.

In the shadowed corner of the dimly lit café a half-drawn velvet curtain shielded them from public view. It created a sense of privacy and solitude amidst the chaos. It muffled the chatter of other patrons, the hiss of the espresso machine, even the clatter of dishes. The curtain created a barrier between their world and his.

Rumor had it that this was Agron’s favorite hangout whenever he was back in his hometown. Nasir’s sources, damn secretive sources that had been almost impossible to crack, had told him Agron always made it a point to stop in for a cup of coffee.

Though he’d managed to escape the notice of the other patrons in the quiet café, he hadn’t escaped Nasir, and he certainly wasn’t happy to see him.

“You want an interview you’ll have to contact my agent. I don’t get friendly with the media and I don’t like reporters.” “So they tell me.” That was just fine by him. Nasir sure as hell wasn’t looking to get friendly with him either—his reputation as a player had made him as famous as his chart-topping records.

Despite his repugnance for celebrity players Nasir forced a smile. He might not have been interested in seducing the man, but he had every intention of putting his story to bed. The story they told him was impossible to get. The story that would make his career and prove once and for all to his prick of a boss that Nasir Al-Hamsi was worthy of his own byline. “This isn’t your typical interview.”

“Really? What is it then?”

“It’s a bedtime story.” A hint of a smile curved his lips. “I don’t do celebrity weddings. I don’t do dirty gossip. I don’t give a damn where you grew up, who you’re dating or when your next album is dropping. _Unveiled Magazine_ is all about the sex. We’re the best magazine to expose it all without ever exposing a thing.”

It was a spiel he had given countless times before. A smirk, a smile, sometimes laughter, that was the standard response. But Agron just stared blankly. Nasir’s words, fraught with danger and sensuality hadn’t cracked even the tiniest layer in his stone-cold façade.

“What’s your name?”

Nasir reached across the table and offered his hand. “Nasir Al-Hamsi, _Unveiled Magazine_.”

Agron took Nasir’s hand in his. As his thumb grazed the back of Nasir’s knuckles it ignited a trail of heat that flamed across his skin. “You’re not exactly playing by the rules, Nasir Al-Hamsi.”

* * *

He watched Agron slip a single cigarette out of the pack of Camels sitting on table. The pack was rumpled, no doubt having been shoved into the pocket of his jeans one time too many. Nasir stared longingly at it. It had been two years since he’d quit but he couldn’t deny the subtle and thankfully fleeting urge to light up. “Well, you know what they say about rules.”

“They’re meant to be broken.” Agron put the tip between his lips and touched the lighter’s flame to it.

“There’s no smoking in here.” Nasir nodded to the signs posted near the back door.

“Yeah well, they make an exception for me.” His words were cool and confident giving him the impression that he really wouldn’t have given a damn if they didn’t. If Nasir had to wager a bet he’d say the exception was made simply because he was _the_ Agron Hoffmann. Apparently that afforded him a complete lack of manners.

Even as he puffed away on the cigarette, Agron’s gaze drew up to his mouth. Whether he was measuring him up or admiring the curve of his lips she couldn’t be sure. As a journalist Nasir had prided himself on being able to read people, but Agron’s expression revealed no insight into his character. He remained hard, dark and unyielding. It had him wondering if anything, or anyone, had ever managed to slip beneath that rock-hard exterior.

He blew out a breath laced with smoke that fanned across the table between them and made him wince in response. His reaction sent the hint of smile to toy on his lips. A crack in the wall he had built around him. He wasn’t sure what that said about him, after all he couldn’t seem to read him and that, more than the second-hand smoke, unnerved him. It made him feel ill-prepared and out of control. Those were two things Nasir never was.

“What does _Unveiled_ want with me?”

Nasir bit down on his lower lip. How was he supposed to answer that? He could have told him plain and simple that _Unveiled_ was after a story. But he doubted very much that simple truth would make an impression on him. He needed some way to get past that barrier, to slip beyond the wall he’d built around himself and invoke a reaction. Any reaction at that point would have done. Laugh in his face, spit on the floor, hell, call him a nosey-bastard and walk away. Anything would have been better than his dark, silent stare.

“A lyrical lay.” The words dripped off his tongue like melted chocolate. Dark, sweet and terribly sinful. It was his favorite play on words and one that often worked so well in his particular line of work. The words painted a sensual, almost poetic picture in the mind and that was exactly what Nasir did. He conjured fantasies on paper for the masses. In fact, if that asshole Ashur ever gave him his own column that was exactly what he intended to title it.

There was another crack in the wall as Agron’s lips curved into a sexy, half-cocked smile—fleeting but genuine. He wasn’t known for being generous with his smiles and perhaps that was something Nasir should have kept in mind. That dark, brooding gaze of his had become rather like an unwitting trademark.

He shifted uncomfortably, as though he hadn’t intended for that momentary lapse in character. “What exactly is that?”

“Sex,” he murmured breathlessly, as though the word itself was enough to ignite his inner passions. And in truth, he found that his hidden desires were strangely alive and wired. It shouldn’t have come as any surprise, for there was no other man more adept at making a person ache with a single, unintentional glance, but ache he did.

He wasn’t the type to be so easily enchanted by anyone. He dealt with celebrities all the time. Handsome, charming men who were accustomed to getting exactly what they desired—men just like Agron.

But something about him had captivated him. It wasn’t his name or his striking face. Certainly not his record sales or celebrity status. Perhaps it was his inhibited manner. This coupled with his inability to read exactly what was on his mind intrigued him as much as it unnerved him. Perhaps it was that old adage, opposites attract. As clichéd as that was, Nasir couldn’t deny there was some truth behind it. It felt as though he was always holding back from saying what he was really thinking when he, a polar opposite, too often blurted out whatever happened to be on his mind.

He shifted, suddenly much too aware of the heat building. _Business,_ he reminded himself, he was here on business. He didn’t have time for men. His career saw to that on more than one occasion. But if he had the time and was so inclined, he certainly couldn’t afford for it to be this man. Not when he unknowingly held his career in his hands. “ _Unveiled_ readers want to know what Agron Hoffmann yearns for. What you desire. You provide the image, we provide the fantasy.”

“But you don’t want an interview.”

“What _Unveiled_ wants is foreplay.”

“I thought you wanted sex.” A dark, almost devilish smile curved at the corner of his mouth. A dimple played in the scruffy hair on his cheek. It added a childlike innocence to his face that contradicted the roguish gleam in his eyes and the wicked curve of his smile.

Perhaps he thought this was a joke, but for Nasir there was nothing amusing about the situation. His peers had warned him that trying to pry a story from Hoffmann was like trying to uncork wine with your teeth. Agron was notorious for being incredibly tight-lipped and very private. If you were lucky enough to get a few moments of his time, he never talked about anything more than his music. Nasir was hoping his direct tactics would yield better results than those who had come before him. He hadn’t hinted about what he wanted. He hadn’t eluded his questions with queries of his own. He hadn’t wrangled the conversation in hopes that he’d accidentally spill some deep, dark secret. There were no games, no illusions. He was after one thing and one thing only and that was sex between the sheets of his magazine.

He prided himself on his honesty and he was hoping it was that honesty Agron would ultimately respond to. But without the ability to read him, to really be able to discern what he was thinking, he didn’t know where he stood with him. It felt as though he was stranded on a sinking ship. He couldn’t seem to relate to him. Couldn’t seem to slip beneath the shield surrounding him and touch on the truth of his character beneath.

He huffed out a breath in irritation. Nasir, like the men he wrote about, always got what he wanted. The fact that Agron was refusing to give it to him only made Nasir all the more determined to have it.

“Give me a drag?” Nasir motioned to the dwindling cigarette in his hand.

Without a word Agron offered him his cigarette and watched as he slipped it between his lips. He took a deep drag that flamed to life within him. It burned his lungs for a split uncomfortable second, then, as he exhaled, every muscle in his body relaxed. He was wound tighter than a drum. The cigarette, that momentary lapse in his character, had let loose one of the ties binding him.

“Want one?”

“No. Yes. No… Fuck it, yes.” He took the cigarette he offered and let it rest between his lips. “Thank you.”

“Once a smoker, always a smoker, as they say.” Agron examined the cigarette in his hand. “So what, you want to ask me if I wear boxers or briefs?” He spoke to the cigarette rather than to him.

Nasir laughed as he turned his attention to the cigarette between his fingers and avoided the eye contact that seemed to be the source of his tension. “ _Unveiled_ is more interested in what it takes to get you out of them.”

“You have a glib little comment for everything.”

“I’m just honest.”

“Okay. Let’s do honest.” His words were curt and he couldn’t have said for sure what he saw etched on his face. He was a master at masking his emotions, but he saw something. A flicker of anger maybe. A glimmer of despair. “Why me?”

“Because they say you can’t be had.”

“So you think if you get me it’ll make you some big-shot reporter?” It was anger he saw this time and there was no mistaking it.

“You symbolize everything we offer. Intrigue, desire…sex. You’ve got what everyone wants and we want to give it to them.”

“You make me sound like a dirty novel when in reality I’m just another guy.” This time his words were wrought with despair. It was a startling contrast to the anger from just a moment before. It made his heart ache strangely—something in his voice, even more than his words, told him that perhaps normality was the one thing he longed for. The one thing he was trying to take away from him.

“I get the whole private life thing, I do. I’m not looking to invade. I just want to share with our readers, your fans—”

“The most intimate part of my life.”

Nasir laughed. It came out jittery, more nervous than he had intended. It seemed as if no matter what he said, no matter how he said it, his words seemed to elicit a negative response from him. All he wanted was a little harmless word play attached to a picture of his pretty face. Really, he didn’t think that was so much to ask for. Didn’t he understand that’s all it was? Harmless words. A pretty picture. “Well yes, I suppose you could look at it that way, but—”

“How else would you look at it?”

“ _Unveiled_ isn’t exactly after the human interest side of the story. We want sex. It’s empty, it’s meaningless…”

His words trailed off, chased away by the disapproving dip of his brow. “People don’t want empty sex. They want the intimate connection. It should never be meaningless. It’s the details, not the act that matters.”

Nasir’s heart dipped as if it had dislodged from his chest and fallen with a heavy thump into his stomach. It wasn’t so much what he said as how he said it. The desperate ache of his words. The tremble of his lips. It made him…he made him…want. He made him desire. He made him care. The worst of the four letter words. He didn’t _care_ about the people he interviewed. They never stirred him. They never got under his skin. They never made him think. Never made him _feel_. He shivered at the thought of another one of those four letter words.

“Can I quote you on that?”

Agron shook his head. Disappointment etched his face. Unmasked and completely naked. There could be no misinterpretation of his reaction to his bold question.

He rose from his seat and snatched up a pair of dark sunglasses. Turned the collar up on his leather jacket as he walked away without so much as backward glance, without so much as a word.

Nasir sat, stunned and speechless. His heart reached out to him as he struggled to think of something, anything to keep him from walking away.

For one fleeting moment he thought not of losing the story but of losing the man.

 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


	2. Chapter 2

Clever boy, Agron mused as he forced himself to walk away. He’d almost made him forget who he was and what he was after. Hell, for a moment he’d even felt like himself. Not Agron Hoffmann, the rock-and-roll playboy, but Agron, a guy from the south side of Seattle. A guy who, for at least one fleeting moment, had been smitten with the young man sitting across the table from him.

But then he’d broken that strange little spell he’d cast over him and reminded him that he wasn’t interested in the man but the story instead. It was business. Just business. And though for a brief moment he’d taken leave of his senses and spouted off some romantic bullshit that was completely beyond the scope of the hard-edge rocker he’d become, he’d gotten himself under control.

He fought the urge to look back at him. If he wanted him, if he really wanted his story, then he would come to him. He hadn’t decided if he was going to let him smear his sex life across the pages of his glossy magazine. He couldn’t deny that the P.R. would probably be worth whatever ribbing he would take from his family and friends. Still, Agron never gave in that easily. If he wanted it Nasir Al-Hamsi was going to have to work for it. He certainly wasn’t selling himself that cheap.

Donar was leaning against the car when Agron stepped out of the café. His bodyguard and closest friend fell in step silently beside him.

Outside, the evening sky was gray, cast with shadows and threatening rain. He drew in a breath of salt-licked Seattle air. It always smelled like home to him with its strange concoction of city fumes and crisp coastal waters.

He paused in front of the car and waited for Donar to unlock the door. Footsteps echoed against the concrete behind him and somehow he knew exactly who they belonged to. Nasir Al-Hamsi.

“When you’re ready to give me the details—” he held out a business card for him, “—I’ll be here ’til Sunday.”

Agron took the card. His fingertips grazed Nasir's skin as he let his hand fall away. It sent a flush of heat, a surge of desire to snake down the length of his body. Did he feel it too? That electrical charge that seemed to breathe life from his touch and command his need?

He watched him go. But something called to him. A strange desire drew him down the street after him.

Had he completely lost his mind? The last thing he needed was to chase down some damn reporter. He certainly didn’t need anyone nosing into his life and exposing his secrets on the pages of some smutty magazine. But he had to follow him, despite the fact that he was skirting danger with a person who had the power to destroy him. Yeah, he was fucked.

From a distance, he watched his long dark hair stir about him. The fluid way he moved as he took each step away captured his interest and sent a flame of unwanted desire licking up his body. Damn, he really didn’t need this.

Donar rested his hand on Agron’s shoulder, drawing his attention. “You’re a jackass,” he laughed. There were few people in this world who could get away with calling Agron a jackass and his bodyguard was one of them. “You do realize who he is, right?”

“Yeah.” He knew but he couldn’t seem to help himself. “I think I’ll go for a walk.”

Donar’s brows dipped in a concerned scowl. “A walk?”

“Yeah.” He stepped around Donar and took off in the direction he had headed. “I need some air.”

“You need a kick in the ass,” Donar joked, but beneath the levity was a hint of concern. “You’ve got rehearsal in two hours, Agron. We don’t exactly have time for sightseeing and I really don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go wandering around downtown. What if someone recognizes you?”

“What are you, my mother?” Agron shot a glance back over his shoulder and because he knew Donar would fall in-step dutifully behind him, he pressed on. There were few people in his life he could count on. Few people he could trust with his life. Donar topped that list, and so he knew that despite whatever dangers Nasir posed he would be safe from the outside world.

Pike Place Market with its old-world charms of bellowing fish mongers brought Agron back to another time and place.

The scent of seafood wafted up through the air. The pungent odour of fish collided with the aroma of fresh-cut flowers. The blooms, swollen with life and as fragrant as perfume dotted the market stalls, adding splashes of color between the sullen grays and pale oranges of the catch of the day.

Old hippies plucked out a rock-and-roll tune on their battered guitars and sang about lost wars, lost loves and lost freedoms. There were days when Agron wondered if this wasn’t where he belonged. Down at the market, lost in a crowd, just him and his guitar. In fact, if it weren’t for his pushy agent this was probably where he would still be. And he’d have been just as happy here, if not happier than when he was paraded beneath a flood of blinding lights on the stage.

He found Nasir and thoughts of what would have been gave way to thoughts of what could be.

Nasir was leaning back against the half-wall separating the market from the street. His jean-clad legs were crossed at the ankles, the long hem of his pants spilling over his boots as he tapped his foot to the beat of the old guitar-picker’s song. His black tee dipped down in a V-shape. If he had approached he would have been offered a generous view of his sharp collarbones. But Agron held back, watching him, feeling a bit like a voyeur but unable to make himself turn away.

Nasir's head was tipped back and his eyes had fallen closed as if he were not merely listening to the music but absorbing it. He licked his lips. Agron's groin tightened painfully and he was cursed with an overwhelming desire to taste him.

Nasir's boy-next-door façade was dangerously deceptive. In truth, beneath the raven locks and warm brown eyes, he dripped with sensuality. It seeped from his brazen tongue, his sultry smile, the hypnotic sway of his hips. He affected Agron like no one had before. He was like cocaine in the system. It made Agron edgy, high and completely stupid.

What the fuck was he doing here? Looking to score another hit? Asshole.

He made himself turn away before he did something he would truly regret. He left the seductive Nasir Al-Hamsi and the soulful old guitar-picker to their private concert.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long... but ENJOY!!

The gloomy thump of music echoed from his cell phone as it rang to life at the bottom of his satchel bag. Nasir dragged his bag onto his lap and fished through the contents. He tossed his digital voice recorder, a pocket-sized notepad and a pen on the loveseat in his hotel room before his fingers finally wrapped around his Blackberry.

He turned the device over in his hand. Ironically, Hoffmann’s smash hit blared from the speaker, making him smile. So perhaps he was just a little bit of a fan.

But Ashur’s name displayed on the screen chased his amusement away. He gave a groan in protest that was drowned beneath the beat of the ringtone as he answered it. “Hello?”

“How’s the article?” Ashur’s voice crashed over the phone. As usual, his tone was neither pleasant nor friendly but rather curt and abrasive. Apparently, his mother had never taught him that you catch more flies with honey. That was something Nasir had learned early on.

“It’s going.” He hadn’t gotten anything yet. Just a few notes he’d taken for himself, observations of their encounter at the café. But there was the promise of tomorrow and so he remained hopeful. “I spoke with him today.”

“Good.”

“I’ll have the story to you by the end of the weekend.”

“I’ll be looking for it.” The phone went silent in his hand as he hung up without so much as a goodbye.

 _Stupid little prick_. He didn’t like Nasir any more than he liked him. Ashur had no idea how to handle someone younger, who was twice as smart, twice as cunning and twice the writer he was. He had no doubt that was why they too often butted heads.

Nasir let out a sigh as he flipped off his phone and headed to the adjoining bathroom. Some days there were just far too many men in his life. Two was more than he had the patience to handle. He just had to nail this story and then he would finally be free to do things his own way. He wouldn’t have to seduce stories. He wouldn’t have to kiss Ashur’s ass. Creative freedom. That was the prize at the end of the finish line.

He flipped the wall switch, bringing a pale glow of light from the twin crystal chandeliers hanging above the mirror. Light caught in the mirror, casting a play of subtle tones over the painted cabinets. The fixtures in plated gold caught the light, adding a sparkle to the Italian tiles lining the double sinks.

The white marble flooring was cold beneath his bare feet as he kicked off his boots. Nasir knelt on the rug, set his phone down on the ledge and turned on the faucet.

As the tub began to fill he rose and grabbed his bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon and a single wine glass.

He filled the glass as the water filled the tub, then set it on the ledge next to his phone and peeled off his clothes.

Nasir slipped beneath the surface and nearly moaned aloud as the warm water soothed the tension that had settled in his muscles.

Like the shadow of a ghost, his face formed from the vapors of his mind. Thick, dark hair, slightly mussed, toyed at the nape of his neck. Long, dark slashes of brows dipped over his eyes. God, those eyes, he thought as his hand stole out, his fingers fumbling over the controls on the tub. He flipped the switch and the jets sputtered and sprayed then settled into a pulsing stream that beat against his back, teased the crook of his knee, and tickled his toes.

He licked his lips, letting his tongue slip over the lush swells. In his mind he traced the line down his straight nose and settled on his mouth. His top lip was thin, well cut, the bottom fleshy, bite-sized. Oh God, he thought as an ache grew between his thighs. Even the thought of him made his body tingle with desire. The vision of his perfect face, his dark brooding features, the fantasy of how his lips would feel pressed against his made his dick throb beneath the warm water.

The gloomy thump of his ringtone sliced through the silence with a wiry, seductive beat. Nasir almost ignored it. Considered settling his hand between his thighs and letting his hand work away the need in his swollen dick instead. The phone rang again, demanding to be answered. He lifted it to his ear. His voice was soft, almost dreamy, as it drifted over the phone. “Hello?”

There was a pause. “Mr. Al-Hamsi?” His raw-edged voice wafted over the phone, humming into his ear and down the length of his body.

Lost in his personal fantasy, Nasir could do no more than murmur into the phone. “Humm?”

“There’ll be a ticket for you at the box office for tomorrow night’s show.”

Recognition flamed within his mind. That heavy, thick voice, those hesitant yet strangely confident words ringing inside his ear. He sat up quickly, sloshing water over the side of the tub. “Mr. Hoffmann?”

“Yeah.” The word came out hoarse, strained, as he breathed it into the phone. There was another brief hesitation before he finally broke the silence drawing out between them. “What’s that noise?”

With the phone pressed against his ear and the water bubbling, Nasir searched the room. “Shit,” he cursed beneath his breath as he reached out and flipped off the jets. Real fucking professional. “Nothing.”

“Sounds like water running.”

“It’s the tub.”

“You’re in the tub?” There was a fleeting note of amusement tinged with something darker, something perhaps resembling desire in his words.

Nasir slid down, letting the water overtake him as he lifted his chin and tilted the phone away. Why the hell had he said that?

He let out a huff of amusement that filtered over the phone and brought a smile to his lips. “Take your phone to the bath do you?”

 “When I’m waiting for a call.”

“Whose call would that be?”

“Yours.” He said it with all the conviction of someone who was rarely wrong. True, he hadn’t known Agron was going to call. He could only sit and wait and hope. Now that he had, triumph settle warmly inside him like the heated waters lapping at his skin. It radiated from within, making his palms moist and his heart thump. Or maybe it was the sound of his voice that stirred him. He couldn’t be sure what caused his discomfort but beneath the water his body was alive and humming.

“Hmmm… Don’t know if I’ve ever had anyone wait naked for my call.”

“I’m in the tub.”

“So you’ve said. One would assume that means you’re naked.”

“One would assume.” He breathed the words heavily into the phone, not intending such deliberate seduction to slip from his voice. It came naturally, too comfortably, when he spoke to him. “Where are you?”

“In my hotel room.”

“Naked?” he asked playfully, unable to resist.

“Could be, would you like to see for yourself?”

“I’m in the tub.”

“Yes, you told me.” There was something wistful in his voice. A longing to his words. “How about a drink after your bath?”

The invitation surprised him as did his urge to take him up on it. But he knew what he wanted and it wasn’t the bedtime story he sought. Nasir would be damned if he’d end up another notch on Agron’s bedpost. He didn’t need a man, even one as dangerously alluring as Agron Hoffmann. What he needed was a story. “I have one, thank you.”

“I could send a car.”

He let out a soft huff of laughter. He doubted very much that Agron Hoffmann was accustomed to rejection. And had he not been after the story of a lifetime he might have actually taken him up on his offer. Hell, he was only human and he had needs just like everyone else. But as it was, he sure as hell wasn’t going to blow this first and only chance Ashur was willing to afford him. “You said you’d leave a ticket at the counter tomorrow night?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow then.” Nasir flipped the phone off without awaiting his reply.

He set his Blackberry down on the ledge of the tub and slipped completely beneath the water. It was his only hope of drowning the deep ache that flamed up from between his thighs.

Agron stared down at the silent phone in his hand. With a half-cocked smile tugging at his lips he placed the receiver back on the cradle. Clever little shit, he thought as he rose and crossed to the wet bar.

As he poured himself a drink his thoughts were consumed by the vision he held in his head. Nasir’s body stretched out beneath the warm waters of his bath. His skin wet, hot, the jets pulsing against his, making his back arch in pleasure.

His mouth went dry.

He drowned the shot of whiskey in one heavy gulp and then poured another. He’d need more than a single shot of Jack to douse the fire Nasir had lit within him.

He dipped his fingers into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a rumpled pack of cigarettes. He slipped one out and put it between his lips. Even as he drew in deeply, letting the smoke fill his lungs, infect his mind, his thoughts wandered back to Nasir. He imagined his head tilted back, his eyes closed. His lips parting slightly as his hand disappeared beneath the water, slipping sinfully between his thighs.

He shook his head and cursed beneath his breath as his groin tugged urgently beneath his jeans.

Agitated, Agron crushed his cigarette out. He crossed the room and picked up his guitar. He cradled it affectionately against his chest while his fingers picked at the strings. The room filled with a soft, twanging sound.

His soft voice echoed in his memory. He traced the line of Nasir’s jaw in his mind, settling on those plump, luscious lips, begging to be kissed.

His thumb strummed heavily at the strings and his fingers slid over the frets. The whine of the guitar echoed the thumping beat of his heart.

“Agron.”

Donar’s voice broke into his thoughts, startling him. Agron’s fingers faltered over the strings and the guitar cried out. Agron swore beneath his breath. Setting the guitar aside he rose and crossed the room to pour another drink.

“Sorry, boss.”

Agron waved a dismissing hand. “It’s all right, what’s up?”

“The boys are waiting for you.”

Agron’s mind swam as he struggled to search past his fantasies of Nasir. It dawned on him, drinks with the boys. “Yeah.” He downed the last of his whiskey. “I’m coming.”

The last thing he needed to do was sit around his hotel room and nurse his whiskey, not to mention his dark desires.

Donar followed him down the hallway as Agron moved three doors down and rapped on the door. He didn’t wait for an answer as he turned the knob and stepped inside.

Donar dutifully closed the door behind him.

Agron lit another cigarette as his gaze wandered the room. A dozen girls had joined them and he huffed out a laugh that bordered on irritation. Drinks with the boys was never drinks with the boys anymore. He missed those days. Back before the record deals had made them wealthy and the media had made them stars. At nearly six years their senior at the age of thirty-two, Agron had grown tired of the up-all-night parties, the drugs and even the stream of men and women. Maybe he was just getting too old for this shit.

He gave a nod to his bandmates as he dropped down onto the sofa. What was he doing here?

As he expelled a breath laced with smoke, a cute brunette guy, a blonde and a redheaded girl joined him. He flashed them a half-hearted smile.

“Can I make you a drink?” The redhead bit down on her lower lip.

“Jack, neat.”

As she rose to do his bidding, the guy, settled down on the floor before him while the blonde took a seat beside him. She dared to reach out to touch him, resting a hand on his thigh. She smiled sinfully as his muscles tensed in response. “Got one for me?” She nodded to the cigarette in his hand.

She reached out to take his from him but Agron pulled away. Instead he slipped the pack from his pocket and offered that to her instead. Disappointment flickered in her eyes as she fished a cigarette from the pack.

More annoyed with her than he cared to admit, Agron took out his lighter and touched the flame to the tip of the cigarette caught between her lips. She wrapped her hand over his, the touch intentional.

“Thank you.”

The redhead returned with his drink. His fingertips made brief but solid contact with her hand as he took the drink she offered. He waited for that tinge of desire, that heat he had felt when Nasir had touched him. But there was nothing. Just the stark emptiness of a stranger’s hand.

“Agron?” Agron cast a glance over his shoulder at his drummer, grateful for the distraction. Jeremy was stretched out on the bed, a girl on either side of him.

“What?”

Jeremy held up a small, silver pipe, letting it rest precariously between his forefinger and thumb. “You want a hit?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

“Not in the mood to play, honey?” a voice drew him back to the group crowding around him.

The brunette lounging on the floor sat up. His chin rested on the bend of Agron’s knee as he poised on all fours before him. He gazed up at Agron from beneath lowered brow.

Seductively licking his lips as desire, or God knew what drug, made his body shift restlessly. “You seem…distracted.”

Distracted. What a perfect word. He was completely distracted. His thoughts lingered on a certain young man, naked in the tub, waiting for his call. If that wasn’t distraction, he didn’t know what was. He could barely think beyond the longing that plagued him. What was it about him that stirred him?

The blonde toyed with his earlobe while the redhead settled down beside her. “Maybe he needs us to take his mind off his troubles.”

The redhead kissed her friend. Their tongues mingling, licking, tasting, sucking. She cupped her hand over the blondee’s breast. Teasing her nipple beneath the clingy fabric of her shirt.

The blonde groaned in response. Arching her back, inviting a touch as her kisses deepened and she bit down on the redhead’s lower lip.

Desire should have rippled down his body. Hardened his cock with an urgent, primal need, but his interest wasn’t there. His thoughts were too consumed by Nasir and the fucking bathtub. What was it about him that drew him? He was stunning, with his long, silky hair and those rousing dark eyes. But that was hardly different from the dozens of other women or men who’d caught his fancy at one time or another. No different than the three who currently pressed their bodies against his now.

No, it had to be something more because his attraction to Nasir was more than primal. Perhaps it was his brazen tongue or brutal honesty that captivated him. The easy confidence that was almost enough to make Agron forget what he was after.

The guy on the floor crawled up his leg. His fingers fumbled over the waistband of Agron’s jeans.

Agron swallowed the lump that had risen in his throat. His head settled back against the couch as he tried to give himself over and let him distract Agron from the dangerous thoughts that plagued him. He certainly didn’t need to get involved with a reporter. That was a dangerous game he’d played too many times before.

The guy tugged on his zipper, exposing the navy boxers he wore beneath. He drew his cock from the cotton fabric and stroked the head with soft, lazy fingers. Despite himself, he grew rigid beneath the touch. The need for release screamed within his body.

“That’s more like it.” the guy brought his lips to Agron’s cock. Teased the head with a flick of his tongue against the velvet ridge.

In Agron’s thoughts he saw a bathtub.

A mouth slipped over him, taking his cock between parted lips, letting it nudge against the back of a throat.

In his mind he saw Nasir’s leg peek out beneath the water.

The mouth drew up his shaft making him moan.

He imagined Nasir settling his leg on the ledge of tub as Agron traced the long line of his calf with his tongue.

Wet and warm, the mouth slipped down once more making need build like a volcano within him.

Droplets snaked down Nasir’s naked thigh in Agron’s fantasy, his tongue following the trail.

As teeth scrapped gently against the soft tip of his cock, Agron pushed the guy away. That wasn’t what he wanted. Wasn’t who he wanted.

The guy let out an aggravated grunt as he dragged his drug-induced gaze over Agron. “What’s the matter, baby? Don’t you want to play?”

The room seemed to spin about him. Cool air wafting up the floor vents felt like icy waters against his exposed prick. He couldn’t do this. Didn’t want to do this. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for. What he needed. But it certainly wasn’t a quick release from some drugged-up groupie.

He rose and yanked up jeans. As he headed for the door he heard Jeremy’s voice echo through the room. “Where you going?”

“Bed.” Agron shot the word at his drummer. He didn’t expect the ‘kids’ to understand. He didn’t even understand it himself. He’d spent years spitting his seed into the hot mouths of a hundred willing groupies. He wasn’t sure why it had suddenly lost all appeal. He wasn’t sure why he needed to get the fuck out of there. All he knew for certain was that this wasn’t where he longed to be.

“Awww,” Jeremy drew out the word drunkenly. “It’s early yet.”

“Yeah, well, I’m an old fucker.”

Jeremy burst into laughter. “All right, Grandpa, go to bed.”

The room exploded with drunken laughter behind him as Agron made his escape. Damn kids, he thought bitterly.

Outside in the hall, Donar cast a sidelong glance at him. “Everything alright, boss?”

“Fine,” Agron dragged his fingers through his hair. “Bloody fantastic.”

He retreated to his hotel room. Flopped down heavily on the bed. What the fuck was wrong with him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always let me know if you spot any mistakes.


	4. Chapter 4

Nasir dragged his bag strap up over his shoulder as he stepped out of the cab in the heart of downtown Seattle. Agron’s name was spelled out in bold red lettering on the neon sign board above the venue. A show of colored spotlights danced about the sky around the towering brick building.

A line of people littered the sidewalk three blocks away. There was an almost electric pulse coursing through the crowd as they waited to shuffle beneath the neon façade and filter into the theater. Girlish giggles and excited chatter filled Seattle with an erratic thumping hum. It was as if the whole damn city had crammed itself into this single corner of downtown.

His boots clumped against the concrete as he wound his way past the people.

He’d donned a black tee. A cool autumn breeze rustled his long dark hair. It sent a shiver running down the length of his bare arms, making him wish he’d grabbed a jacket to help against the chill.

Nasir wove his way through the crowd toward the box office windows flanking the front of the building. A dark-haired woman sat behind the middle window. Her gaze drew up from the computer screen as Nasir approached. “Can I help you?”

“My name is Nasir Al-Hamsi. I was told there would be a ticket left for me.”

The woman sorted through a stack of papers on the counter behind the window pane that created a barrier between them. She selected a small white envelope then slipped it into the shallow bowl-like tray beneath the window.

Nasir took it and turned the thin, narrow envelope over in his hand. His name was scrawled across the front in bold, black ink. Nasir ran his thumb over the hand-printed letters of his name and wondered if it had been penned by Agron.

He flipped the envelope over and pried it open. Instead of a seat ticket he found a laminated card that dangled from a length of heavy nylon cord. His album cover had been printed in full color on thick card stock. “ALL ACCESS” was printed across the front in white bold-face lettering.

A second piece of paper was stuck to the inside flap. He fished it out. No bigger than a business card, a short message was written on it.

_Details: Floor seats, stage left. Find_ _Ilithyia._

A smile curled Nasir’s lips. For a man who proclaimed to detest games he certainly seemed to enjoy playing with him. He tucked the note back into the envelope and slipped it into his bag. Once scanned into the computer the note would make a fabulous graphical element to accompany his article.

He pressed the laminated card into the palm of his hand. Without an actual ticket for the show he was counting on the pass to get him inside.

The doors to the venue swung open and the crowd, now at fevered heights, began pushing and shoving their way inside.

Nasir strode to the front of the line, figuring he might as well put his little laminated friend to the test. He flashed the badge and the ticket-taker gave a nod in response. Despite the groans of protest Nasir bypassed the lines. He headed into the building and down the corridors leading to the floor seats.

The theater was dimly lit. A halo of light surrounded each of the columns flanking the four sections of seating. In the balcony the lighting was more abundant, but on the floor there was only the soft glow of the column lights and the colored spotlights dancing above the stage to light the way.

The band’s music filled the theater with a raw thunderous beat. The chatter from the crowd was deafening. Almost loud enough to drown out the pre-concert music blaring from the speakers overhead.

Nasir toyed nervously with the clasp on his bag as his gaze bounced from section to section. The seats were filling quickly with eager fans. He was considering pulling out his camera and snapping a few shots when someone tapped him on the shoulder. “Nasir Al-Hamsi?”

Startled, Nasir turned. Noting the matching badge about the woman’s neck he nodded. “Yes?”

“I’m Ilithyia. Will you come with me please?”

He followed Ilithyia through the maze of chairs to the side of the stage. A dark velvet curtain crossed the distance between the stage and the back wall. A seemingly easy fortress to penetrate… If not for the pair of thick-muscled men in tight black T-shirts standing guard. Ilithyia flashed them both a dazzling smile and as if by silent command the two men swept the curtains aside, allowing them passage.

Beyond the curtain lay a short flight of stairs. Ilithyia took them two at a time, leaving Nasir to follow along after her.

They turned down a hallway and walked half a dozen paces before Ilithyia finally stopped abruptly. She shoved open an unmarked door and on her silent command Nasir stepped inside.

A small sitting area was carved out with a couch and a single chair in one corner of the room. Across from it there was a large flat-screen television fixed to the wall. Below that sat a small wet bar, fully stocked and completely untouched.

Nasir crossed to the bar first. He noted it was stocked with several top-shelf brands of bourbon, whiskey and vodka. Below the bottles sat tumblers and wine glasses. On the other side six bottles of wine rested behind a wire-framed cabinet door. In between the hard alcohol and high-dollar wine was a small black refrigerator.

“Have a drink.”

Startled Nasir slammed the fridge door shut and whirled about. Agron was standing in the threshold watching him. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to know you’re a true reporter.”

“What?”

He nodded to the fridge. “You going to go through my garbage next?”

Nasir let out a huff and tucked his hair behind his ear. He didn’t like the implication that he was snooping, even if that was basically was what he was doing. “I was just looking for a bottle of water.”

“Sure.” He dug a pack of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket and slipped one out.

Behind him a “No Smoking” sign was bolted to the beige walls. The irony of it sent a smile to crest Nasir’s lips. Agron's dark brows dip in question. “What’s so amusing?”

Nasir nodded to the sign.

He cast a glance back at it then shrugged. A wicked smile curved his lips. “Just a suggestion.”

The stone-cold façade Agron had worked so hard to maintain during their first encounter at the café had cracked, and beneath it Nasir was offered a glimpse into his character. He saw darkness, danger, even desire, and it made his insides tighten with anticipation. “I forgot. Rules that apply to everyone else don’t apply to you.”

A devilish smile tipped his lips. “Everybody wants to be a rockstar.”

His gaze was no longer callous and cold as he drank in the sight of Nasir. Nasir’s heart beat erratically as Agron closed the distance between them. It pounded like a jackhammer, ringing in his ears and making him draw a sharp breath as Agron circled him. He drew so dangerously close Nasir could breathe in the cool, musky scent of his cologne. His body shook with desire as Agron closed in on him. It made the words tumble shakily from his lips. “Do you always get everything you want?”

“Do you?” Beneath his dark brows Agron’s searing gaze was hungry. As if he were a panther on the hunt and had just spied his next meal.

The thought of Agron devouring him made his body ache for his touch. And though Agron was so dangerously close, though he had but to shift his body to press against his, they remained painfully distant. Nasir couldn’t think with him so close. No one had ever looked at him the way Agron did. It made him feel beautiful, powerful and completely in his control. Nasir wasn’t sure he liked the last of those feelings. He was always in control. Always.

 “Yes.” Nasir lifted his chin with the confidence of his words. Had he not been the journalist, had Agron not been the story, his command of Nasir would have been his undoing. Nasir would have given himself completely and begged him to dominate him. But he wasn’t looking for a lay. What he needed more than he needed Agron’s body…..was his story. “Always.”

“Where’s the fun in that? Always getting what you want.”

“It’s not the act of acquiring what one wants.” Nasir motioned to the dwindling cigarette between Agron’s fingers. Agron twirled it around and offered it to him without hesitation. He brought the tip to his lips and let it linger just a breath from connecting. “It’s the chase that thrills,” he added, then drew off the cigarette.

“And what thrills are you after?” Agron’s tongue slipped out from between his slightly parted mouth. He licked his bottom lip and then bit down on the swell as though he was fighting for control of his own appetite. That solitary, absentminded action nearly made Nasir forget what it was he was after. For in that moment the only thrill he wanted was Agron.

Nasir offered him back his cigarette and took a deliberate step away. He needed space. He couldn’t think with Agron’s hot breath fanning over his skin and igniting a long-forgotten desire for the touch of man. It had been too long since anyone but himself had touched him.

Nasir’s mind swam in a hundred different directions. Agron had asked him something, hadn’t he? What the hell was he here for again? “The unattainable story,” he said at last.

Agron crushed his cigarette into the sink.

He took a step toward Nasir and he in turn took one away.

A wicked smile toyed at the corner of his mouth as he pressed forward again. Again Nasir took another away. Agron pressed on and he retreated until he caught Nasir up against the wall.

Agron reached out and Nasir held his breath as he waited for Agron to press his hand against him. But he denied him and pressed his palm flat against the wall beside Nasir’s head instead. “What makes you think I’ll let you expose me in the pages of your magazine?”

“I think—” he lifted him chin defiantly to meet Agron’s gaze, “—I wouldn’t be here if there wasn’t some thrill in the idea of being exposed.”

“Maybe.” His mouth was but a breath away from Nasir’s lips. “Then again, maybe there’s some thrill in the idea of you.”

Nasir drew in the scent of him. There was a calm aquatic note spiced with coriander. The scent drove him near mad with an unquenchable desire. It was instant, hot and caught Nasir completely unaware.

“I’m sure you can take two steps outside this room and find a dozen other girls or guys who’d be more than happy to thrill you.”

“I don’t want a dozen other girls or guys.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Hoffmann, they’re ready for you.” Ilithyia’s voice broke into the room to drown out the frantic beat of Nasir’s heart.

Agron let his hand slide down the wall beside him, nearly grazing his fevered skin. Damned if Nasir didn’t long to have it slide down his body instead.

“I won’t give you the story,” he said at length.

Nasir shook his head slowly and drew in a deep breath. “Pity.” Against his better judgment he dared to touch Agron. He laid his palm flat against Agron’s chest. His heart thudded erratically beneath Nasir’s touch and made him ache to press not just his hand but his body against him. Nasir’s lips brushed against his earlobe as he breathed a sigh over him. “We could have rocked the world.”

Agron let out a heavy sigh that bordered on a needy moan as he swept by him.

Nasir pulled the pass from his bag. Let it dangle helplessly from the cord. He let loose. It fell into the garbage and landed with a clank against the bottom of the metal can.

Moments later the venue lights dulled and the roar of the crowd rose to a deafening volume. Though he had every intention of walking away, the sound of the crowd drew him to the stage.

Just because Agron had said no didn’t mean Nasir had any intentions of letting the story go that easily. He paused at the side of the stage. Across from him, the curtains parted. Beyond, the band was cast in dazzling bright lights.

From his side-stage vantage he could see the nervous tremble in their hands as the band greeted the wailing crowd with a wave. The drummer swallowed nervously before pounding out a heavy, thunderous rhythm that filled the pulsing theater. There was an excited jitter to the guitarist’s fingers as he picked at the cords, casting a high-pitched, whining riff over the drummer’s thudding beat.

“I’ve never seen anyone turn him down like that.” Ilithyia crossed her arms over her chest as they turned to the stage.

Nasir shook his head. “Men like him need to learn they can’t always get what they want.”

“He _always_ gets what he wants.” Her voice dipped as though perhaps she was drawing from personal experience. A strange twinge ripped through Nasir’s stomach at the thought. What the fuck? Was he actually jealous?

He dismissed it with a wave of his hand as though he was dismissing the man himself. From behind the drawn curtains at the opposite side of the stage, Agron emerged to an eruption of hysterical screams from an already charged crowd.

He crossed the stage with heavy, purposeful steps. His dark gaze was cast downward, focusing on the base of the microphone. He wrapped his fingers slowly about the mic, one by one as if enjoying the sensation scorching through each fingertip as it pressed against the cool metal.

His voice poured into the microphone. It echoed out into the crowded theater with a deep, sexy throb that vibrated down the length of Nasir’s body. It made the dull ache between his legs flame to life with a painful heat.

Nasir’s gaze was drawn to his mouth. His lips were settled against the mic as his words dipped to a husky, almost muttering chorus. His raw voice jumped higher over the croon of the crowd. The lyrics were torn painfully from his throat over the pulsating riff. “The drugs come cheap and we don’t have to think, we all just wanna be tied to the sheets. If only for a moment to feel your breath on my skin, hell, I’d spend a lifetime living in sin.”

“If you want him, don’t walk away. He won’t come after you.”

Nasir huffed out a laugh at that. “Oh, I have no intentions of walking away.” Not from his story and not from the man who stirred to life demons he hadn’t known he possessed.

******************************************************************************

Nasir sat with Ilithyia backstage. He filled his small notebook with enough anecdotes to span three articles. It wasn’t exactly what he’d been after, certainly not what he wanted, but it would do in the meantime until he could break the real story. As he had told Ilithyia, he had no intentions of walking away.

He learned from Ilithyia that Agron had had his fair share of women and men. Usually groupies, sometimes staff, and yes, the occasional reporter. This wasn’t exactly golden information. Everyone knew Agron’s drug of choice wasn’t powders or pills, but sex.

Nasir caught sight of Agron as the band poured from the stage at the end of the concert. His dark hair was damp and curled slightly at the tips. His gaze was cast downward and Nasir couldn’t see the bright green irises that could make his entire body tingle with one glance. A layering of chiseled muscles ripped down his chest beneath his half-unbuttoned black shirt. Damn he was sexy. Too good looking for his own fucking good and he knew it.

Agron lifted his gaze and genuine surprise etched his damp face. He stopped dead in his tracks, triggering a domino effect as his bandmates stumbled over him.

“You need a map, Agron?” the drummer joked as he slapped Agron on the back and stepped around him.

A round of laughter burst out backstage but Agron didn’t so much as crack a smile. He was focused on Nasir alone. Heat licked up Nasir's body like a needy tongue. Intentionally, he broke eye contact and turned back to Ilithyia.

“It must be exciting meeting so many celebrities.” Excitement charged Ilithyia’s words. “Sometimes I think I might like…” Her words trailed off as something behind Nasir drew her attention.

Agron took Nasir by the arm and yanked him up to him. He drew his hand upward and trailed it along the length of his arm, over his bare shoulder then finally he wrapped his hand around the base of his neck. One by one, his fingers curled, caressing Nasir’s skin as he had caressed his mic.

Agron pulled him close and their lips rested a mere breath apart. The air between them was thick with unspoken need. He pressed his lips to Nasir’s, hungrily devoured him with a desperate, breathless kiss.

Nasir’s lips parted in eager acceptance. Agron’s tongue slipped softly over his in a moist, breathless dance.

He drew in a deep, shaky breath as Nasir ran his hands up Agron’s back, sliding them up until his fingers were buried in his dark hair. He bit down softly on his lower lip, suckling the tender flesh as a deep moan escaped from Agron’s lips.

The world faded away into the shadows. The hoots and hollers from the stage crew were but a distant echo as he trailed kisses down Nasir’s jaw, tracing the long line of his neck. “Damn it.” His warm breath feathered across his skin. “I’ll give you your story.”

“Dare I ask what you’ll ask for in return?” Nasir took his earlobe in his mouth. Desire throbbed viciously between his thighs as he pressed his groin against Agron’s. His cock grew hard against him, nudging against the confines of his jeans. His body shuddered against him. God, Nasir wanted him. He didn’t care what he asked for. Nasir would have given him anything. Everything.

Agron dug a credit-card sized room key from the pocket of his jeans and handed it to him. Agron’s fingers trailed across his temple sweeping his hair away from his face. “Meet me there in thirty minutes. Room 1220.”


End file.
